We Had Hoped

 

“We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.”
— Joseph Campbell

When I first moved to Austin nearly ten years ago, I arrived with so many hopes and dreams about how life would unfold.  

My parents moved in with us, and my oldest son transferred to the University of Texas, which meant my entire immediate family was under one roof in a house where we could all live.  The plans we had talked about for months were coming into view right before my eyes.  

I was incredibly happy in the work I was doing at my new church, and family dinners and activities abounded. It felt like my dreams were all coming true.  

And then my mom passed away.  Then my oldest boy got married and moved to Chicago. In the coming years, my dad got remarried and moved out.  My marriage eventually fell apart.  My middle son went off to college, and my youngest went to live with his mom in Florida. 

I was left alone in a massive house with a cat, who eventually ran off and was never seen again.  I'm not kidding.  Even the cat. 

I was left with the grief of all of those endings, and also the end of a dream that I mourned along with them. Hope slowly drained from me over those years, and it was one of the lowest points in my life.  

Among the most poignant words in Scripture are those spoken by the disciples on the road to Emmaus:

“We had hoped...” (Luke 24:21).

In those three words, an entire world of disappointment is revealed.

We had hoped.

We had hoped the marriage would survive.

We had hoped the treatment would work.

We had hoped the opportunity would come.

We had hoped life would unfold differently.

Every person eventually speaks some version of those words.

Hope is beautiful because it opens us to possibility. But when hopes are dashed, grief often follows. We mourn not only what happened but what might have been.

The disciples believed Jesus would transform their world in a particular way. Instead, they witnessed his crucifixion. Their expectations shattered. Their future seemed uncertain.

Yet what is remarkable about the Emmaus story is that Jesus walks beside them in their disappointment long before they recognize him.

That detail matters.

God's presence is not dependent on our ability to perceive it.

Even when we are confused, angry, heartbroken, or disillusioned, Christ walks with us.

Joseph Campbell's words speak to the difficult work of letting go. Not because our dreams were foolish, but because clinging to a vanished future can keep us from embracing the life that still lies ahead.

This does not happen overnight.

Grief rarely works on a schedule.

But gradually, healing creates space for new possibilities.

The sacred journey of faith is not about pretending losses do not matter. It is about trusting that God can still meet us in the midst of them.

The disciples' story did not end with “We had hoped.”

Neither does yours, and neither does mine.  

I have new dreams now.  I have new hope for the future.  I am discovering just how much there is to live for on the other side of the grief I experienced.  

I now understand more fully what Resurrection means and what it feels like to be steadfast in our hope for tomorrow.  

Your story isn't done. 

Hold on to hope. There is much more to be written.  

Prayer

God of the Emmaus road, walk beside me in my disappointments. When I find myself mourning what might have been, help me trust that you are still present and still at work. Give me the courage to release the future I imagined and remain open to the future you are unfolding. Amen.

Reflection Questions

1. What hopes have you found yourself grieving recently?
2. How do you typically respond when expectations are not met?
3. Where might Christ already be walking beside you, even if you cannot yet see it?